“You don’t need to do that,” I said, embarrassed.
“Sure, I do,” he said. “I want you to be happy and feel pretty, and the ranch is pulling in enough money. Will’s threatening to make me, what did he say? ‘Diversify your stock away from stinking awful sheep and sell llama fur to yuppies,’ so I expect it might be pulling in more than that soon enough.”
He made a face.
“I know a guy with a couple of old llamas,” he said. “They spit.”
“You’re not more curious about me getting fired?” I asked, bluntly. He was talking about llamas and buying me fancy shampoo, I expected a litany of questions about my future plans and whether or not I was going to get evicted and crawl back to my parents. That’s what my old boyfriends would have done.
“You didn’t seem too excited to talk about it,” he said. “You said a while back that your lease is up in a few months, I figured you’d find a new job and maybe move somewhere cheaper.”
He looked at me sidelong.
“I figured maybe,” he added, “I’d see if you wanted to move out to the ranch, at least for a little while. I won’t charge you rent, you can take your time, job hunt if you want to, don’t if you don’t want to. Maybe have a little vacation. Lay about, read some books, take a few weeks for yourself.”
“That sounds pretty heavenly,” I admitted.
“You wouldn’t ever need to go back to work, if you didn’t want to, if we got married,” he said.
“I just lost a job, I didn’t, I don’t know…” I trailed off. “Just, give me some time, please. I just lost a job, I’ve never been fired before. I just need some time to think.”
“No problem,” he said, and patted my knee. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart. I love you.”
A few weeks later, I couldn’t sleep all night. In the morning, I borrowed the truck and went into town with no particular plan, driving around for half an hour, looking at all of the cute little houses and the children in the yards, the big-box stores that seemed to suddenly be all about children and toys and family togetherness.
What did I want out of life? Really, I was old enough to know whether or not I wanted children. I was old enough to know whether or not I wanted a job. Clint hadn’t said anything again about me not finding another job, or getting married, or not working, but I knew he had meant his offer. Clint meant everything he said.
Why was this idea so scary?
Other boyfriends had brought up children to me and I’d laughed them off. Sure, maybe, maybe children in another decade, but right now I had too much going on. The thought of having more than one child, of making children the focus of my life, was overwhelming.
I was being ridiculous, I kept telling myself. Was I more afraid that I didn’t want to make children the focus of my life, or that I did?
Finally, I found myself parked in the back of a grocery store parking lot with my phone in my hand.
I dialed a number I knew by heart, and on the fourth ring, the line picked up.
“Naomi, what a pleasant surprise. I’ve told people that I have a daughter, but they don’t always believe me.”
I winced.
So much for diving right into whether or not I should have kids.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been all over the place with work lately.”
“You know, I did buy you
one of those headsets for your phone,” she said, trailing off sadly.
“They don’t work with my phone,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back.
Her voice was pleasant, but held just the faintest trace of disbelief. It was the tone she’d used when I was in high school and told her that of course I hadn’t skipped class, my teacher had a sub that day who didn’t count me properly. “I’m sure, dear,” she said.
This was a terrible idea. Why was I calling someone to talk about being an adult when they always made me feel like a teenager?
“So, what’s new with you?” I asked.
She told me about my step-father’s company and her friends for a few minutes.